


Lead Me Down to River Lethe

by emptydistractions



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: B.A.R.F. | Binarily Augmented Retro Framing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cock Warming, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Intercrural Sex, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Rape Recovery, Top Steve Rogers, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26410144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions
Summary: The Asset’s blood runs cold, which is impossible. The Asset is machinery; electrical switches and wires and cogs, not flesh and blood. The Secretary’s eyes are pale blue, like glittering ice chips set deep in his weathered face. His smile looks like a threat, and suddenly the Asset knows what its mission is, even though it hasn’t been briefed. One of the easiest missions that the Asset gets really.A break,the Secretary likes to say, a little reward for all that hard work.Easy, even if the thought makes the Asset’s stomach clench and its head roar with static, sharp and painful, for reasons it can’t name. That’s okay though. The Asset doesn’t need the why. Just the how, and the Secretary is very good at giving orders.Steve can't erase what happened. All he can do is try to make it more bearable.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	1. The Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lillaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillaby/gifts).



> A little present for my beta, one of the most amazing people who constantly puts up with my half-literate rambling. Thank you Lillaby!

“Stupid.”

The Handler is angry. That much is obvious to the Asset as it stands beside him in the swiftly rising elevator. Silently, the Asset takes stock of the situation. The Handler is red-faced, muscles strung tight in annoyance, and fingers clenched around the grip of his gun where it rests snugly in the holster around his waist.

“Fuckin’ stupid,” the Handler repeats. “Middle of the goddamn day. What the fuck is he thinking?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” the other man in the elevator answers. “You should try it sometime, Brock.” His fingers also rest on his gun, but his grip is relaxed and nonchalant. Lazy, the Asset notes. In a combat situation, it will take the man nearly a fourth of a second to draw his weapon. The Asset only needs half that. _Lazy._

“Well, I care,” the Handler says angrily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while the elevator continues its dizzying ascent. “Middle of the fuckin’ day,” he mutters again.

“He’s the boss,” the other man says simply, kicking a foot up behind him to lean on the mirrored wall.

“I don’t care if he’s the fuckin’ Pope, Jack.”

There’s a vein protruding in the Handler’s neck, thick and angry. _External jugular_. The Asset tilts its head slightly as it thinks. Neither man notices the minute movement. _Longer than five minutes for exsanguination. High probability of clotting. Not a good target. Better to sink a knife in higher and deeper to hit the carotid._

“He gets caught doin’ this shit and all this-” the Handler waves a hand while the other man watches on, unimpressed, “-all this work we’ve done, gone. Caput. Just like that. I signed on to this gig to change the world, not to help an old man get his pervy rocks off.”

“Well, then I guess you better make sure he doesn’t get caught,” the other man says, casually pushing off the wall to a standing position as the elevator dings to announce their arrival.

The Handler curses under his breath as the elevator doors slide open. There’s a sharp pain in the Asset’s back as the Handler prods it forward with the barrel of his gun. The room it steps into is an office, the decoration done in neutral blues and greys with minimal furniture. There’s a dark wooden desk, solid and foreboding, that takes up an entire corner. Plate-glass windows make up the back wall, and beyond them the Potomac shimmers far below. _Weather-proofed, thick glass. Pushing a man through the window would be a last-resort tactic._ Everything is sharp angles and hard surfaces; purposely designed to put people off, make them uneasy. It’s not a comforting place.

“Move idiot,” the Handler hisses quietly, jamming the gun into the Asset’s spine.

The Asset takes a step forward, the insult slipping off of it like water off a duck’s back. The Asset is not a person. It can’t be insulted, and even it was, there is no talking back to the Handler. Behind it, the Handler and the other man step into the room as the hidden panel in the wall slides back into place, cleverly concealing the elevator.

There’s a man sitting at the desk, absorbed in his work. Something supplies the information, like it’s carved into the Asset’s bones. _The Secretary_. He doesn’t look up when they enter, doesn’t acknowledge their presence at all. Behind it, the Asset can feel the Handler getting angry again, twitching in his attempts to hold it in. The Secretary continues scratching away his pen, pausing now and again to re-read what he’s written. The Handler takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and carefully through his nose. The other man who came up with them makes a quiet clicking sound with his tongue before the Handler elbows him hard in the ribs.

Finally the Secretary speaks, although he still doesn’t look up from his work. “You brought everything?”

The Handler’s answer sounds like it’s gritted out from between clenched teeth. “Yes, sir.”

The Secretary flips the paper he’s holding and studies the backside of it intently. “And you were discrete?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The Secretary lays the paper down carefully on top of a neat stack with a sigh. “As usual, please.” And then he looks up and smiles.

The Asset’s blood runs cold, which is impossible. The Asset is machinery; electrical switches and wires and cogs, not flesh and blood. The Secretary’s eyes are pale blue, like glittering ice chips set deep in his weathered face. His smile looks like a threat, and suddenly the Asset knows what its mission is, even though it hasn’t been briefed. One of the easiest missions that the Asset gets really. _A break_ , the Secretary likes to say, _a little reward for all that hard work._ Easy, even if the thought makes the Asset’s stomach clench and its head roar with static, sharp and painful, for reasons it can’t name. That’s okay though. The Asset doesn’t need the why. Just the how, and the Secretary is very good at giving orders.

The Handler and his companion move at the Secretary’s request. “Hands,” the Handler commands brusquely. “Behind.”

The Asset folds its arms behind its back, presenting them to the Handler. Something cold snaps around its flesh wrist with a metallic rasp. There’s the scraping sound of metal on metal as a matching cuff is placed around the Asset’s prosthetic arm, and then without warning, both cuffs are tightened. The metal cuff digs cruelly into the Asset’s flesh arm. The Asset’s muscles tighten involuntarily, but there’s no give to the cuffs and its arms remain securely bound together behind its back.

The Secretary’s grin stretches wider, but none of the mirth reaches his eyes. He keeps them locked on the Asset as he pulls a folded slip of paper out of a desk drawer and waves it at the Handler. “Deliver this immediately. I want you on call for the next few hours. I’ll let you know when you can come collect it.”

The Handler mumbles something unintelligible, even to the Asset’s sharp ears, before giving the Secretary a tight-lipped _‘yes, sir’_ and leaving the office with the note in hand and his companion at his heels. They exit by the regular office door this time.

The Asset stands still. Sweat is beginning to form into droplets at its temples and its legs tremble with the need to move, but it hasn’t yet been given an order. Instead it waits.

“Hello, Soldier.” For the first time the Secretary speaks directly to the Asset. The static in the Asset’s head roars louder. “You’ve been working hard,” the Secretary continues. He pushes his chair away from the desk and faces the Asset. His legs are open, the bulge at his groin clearly evident in his expensive trousers. “How about a reward?”

There’s something acidic at the back of the Asset’s throat and its heart thrums against its ribcage so hard it’s a wonder it isn’t shaking the whole machine apart.

“You remember our little game, don’t you?” the Secretary asks, his tone sickly-sweet and sharp. He spreads his legs wider in his plush office chair and absent-mindedly strokes the bulge in the fabric. “Go on. You have permission to speak.”

Lack of moisture sticks the Asset’s tongue to the roof of its mouth. It swallows once, twice, fruitlessly as it tries to summon words. “Yes,” it finally manages, its voice sandpaper-rough. Thoughts keep slipping in and out of focus. _Open legs, relaxed posture, probably delayed reaction time. Easy enough to- to-_ “Yes, sir,” it says again. “I get to play when I’m good.”

“That’s right!” The Secretary’s grin stretches wider and he gives himself a long stroke through his trousers like he’s congratulating himself on a job well done. “You remember how you play?” It takes a fraction of a second too long for the Asset to make itself move. _Nodding. Ball bearings and grinding gears and black, greasy oil._ He nods and the Secretary points to the floor in front of his chair. “Go on, then.”

The Asset forces its uncooperative legs forward until it’s standing in front of the Secretary. For just a moment, it towers over the man. He looks small. Old and easily breakable. _Target vulnerable to being pinned from this position. The Asset could use its body weight to hold the target down, force him down onto the floor, twist a knife into his-_ The Secretary nods encouragingly like he’s directing a small child, and the Asset kneels until the knees of its tactical pants sink into the lush, cream-colored carpet. Its body feels spring-loaded; ready to up and run at the slightest sign of trouble.

“Good boy,” the Secretary says, the same as one would say to a dog. _Good boy, bad boy, open your mouth boy._ “Open your mouth.”

Teeth click and grind together in a cacophony of noise inside the Asset’s head as its mouth opens slowly and mechanically, the hinges stuck and rusted like an old garden gate. The Secretary hums in approval as he watches, his hands working to slowly unfasten his belt. He pulls out his cock, already hard and leaking at the tip, and lets his fingers dance along the shaft as the Asset stares. The Asset knows what comes next, can feel the bile rising in the back of its throat as it leans forward to take the _-pink, vulnerable, the Asset could, it could-_ Secretary’s cock into its mouth.

The Secretary grunts; a guttural, primal sound as the Asset closes its lips around his cock and begins to suck. The Asset’s head is empty, stuck stuttering on the sights and sounds and scents and tastes of it all. Above it the Secretary groans, his eyes closed and head tilted back, as the Asset swallows around him. A bitter taste fills its mouth as it laps at the leaking head of the Secretary’s cock.

“Look at me,” the Secretary commands. The Asset obeys, looking up through its lashes at the Secretary, its lips still stretched wide around him. There’s color high in the Secretary’s cheeks and his breathing is more ragged than it was before. “Do you remember the next part of the game?” The Asset nods, its head bobbing up and down on the Secretary’s cock as it moves. The Secretary groans again, his lips stretched into an ugly shape. “Then go ahead.”

The Asset pulls back, letting the Secretary’s cock slip from between his lips. There’s drool on its chin, slowly going cold and slimy, but it hasn’t been told to wipe it off, so there it stays. Hungry eyes follow the Asset as it shuffles on its hand and knees across the carpet, taking the same path it has a hundred times before. When it reaches the massive desk, it crouches even lower, folding its long limbs to fit in the space below the desktop that’s meant for a chair. It’s a tight fit; the space is small and the Asset isn’t. Its back and neck are bent at uncomfortable angles and the contortion of its limbs pull cruelly at its muscles.

“Very good.” The Secretary’s chuckle sounds more like a snarl, and his voice is muffled by the thick wooden desktop. “Good enough to earn you a little more playtime.”

There’s a shuffling noise and shadows fall across the Asset’s hiding space as the Secretary’s legs slide into view. His shoes, expensive, supple leather, kick at the Asset, and it shrinks further back into the tiny space as the Secretary situates his chair back into place. The Secretary’s open legs frame the Asset’s view, and his cock, still hard and shiny with spit, juts out beneath the desk. There’s a shuffling of paper and the click of a keyboard above the Asset’s head as the Secretary hums a wordless tune. It’s hard to breathe down here, but the Asset viciously represses the urge to gasp for air. A gasp is a noise, and noise is not tolerated during this part of the game. _We can find better uses for that mouth than screaming._

The Asset pushes its head forward. Muscles in its neck stretch unpleasantly, and the position forces its chest to crumple further in on itself. It closes its mouth around the Secretary’s cock again, and knows its done a good job when the Secretary responds with a pleased grunt and a flex of his hips that pushes his cock further into the Asset’s throat. This time though, the Asset doesn’t suck, doesn’t swallow, doesn’t move. That’s what this part of the game is about. Staying still and silent. _Keeping it warm for me like a good little boy._

It’s hard to measure time under the desk. The Asset tries to keep count in its head, but its thoughts keep drifting off in different directions.

_Teeth, the Asset has teeth, the Asset could-_

A phone rings shrilly and the Secretary answers it, his voice a quiet murmur.

_No, no, teeth can be removed, shouldn’t give them a reason to-_

The clacking of the keyboard is like thunder, relentless and never-ending.

_Under the desk, bad tactical position, no weapon, no teeth, no-_

The Secretary shifts his hips forward. His cock pushes into the back of the Asset’s throat and the Asset chokes silently, involuntary tears streaming from its eyes. Its shoulders are on fire, bright sparks of pain dance along its spine. Spit drips from the corners of its mouth, gathering beneath its chin to spatter on the floor below, and its lips have gone numb.

There’s a knock on the office door, muffled and an eternity away for all the Asset pays attention to it.

“Come in,” the Secretary calls, sitting up straighter in his chair, forcing the Asset’s head upwards to press hard against the roof of its little cave.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Everything screeches to a halt, and for a moment the Asset forgets to breathe. That voice. _It’s- it’s- it’s-_

“I just wanted to see how you were settling in Captain Rogers. How’s your first week in D.C. been?”

The Secretary’s hips move forward again, forcefully this time as his chair wheels forward and forces the Asset back. The movement reminds the Asset to breathe, and only at the last second does it remember the rule to stay _silent, always silent, that’s the game._ Above the Asset’s head, fingers drum on the desk, a little pop-pop-pop that reminds it of _far-away gunfire and boots covered in blood and a shield-_

“Settling in just fine Mr. Secretary.”

“Getting along with the team? I’m sure they’re excited to work with Captain America.”

_You ready to follow Captain America-_ There’s a person in the Asset’s head, screaming and screaming and screaming. It doesn’t know how the person got in there or who it is, and it doesn’t know how to make it _stop stop stop stop stop-_

“They’re good men, sir. Very competent. I think we’ll work well together.”

“I’m glad to hear that Captain. Now, I know this will sound a little bit cheesy, but I’d like you to be able to think of Shield as your family.”

The second voice _-that sounds like the rasp of a creaky bedroom window being pulled open and the squelch of mud in your shoes and the water drip-drip-dripping through the roof into the corner of the shitty apartment and-_ hesitates before answering in a tone that’s formal and uncomfortably stiff. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. Was there anything else?”

“No, that was it.” The Secretary’s voice has the slightest hint of cruel amusement in it. “You can go. But please don’t hesitate to come to me for anything. I’m here to help.” The other man doesn’t answer, but he must be leaving because the Asset can hear heavy footfalls, the sound mostly swallowed by the thick carpet. The latch on the office door clicks, and then the Secretary calls, “Oh, if you could, do you think you could tell Brock Rumlow I need to see him? If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course, sir.”

The thud of the closing door and the click of the latch as it slots back into place are like cannon-fire. The Asset’s mouth is left hanging open in surprise as the Secretary yanks his chair away from the desk, his hard cock coming free with a pop, long strings of saliva clinging between it and the Asset’s swollen lips. The Secretary’s face appears suddenly as he bends down to look at the Asset, still stuffed under the desk.

“Out, now,” he commands, and the Asset scrambles to obey.

Its muscles and joints scream as it unfolds them and drops down to its hands and knees. Its jaw locks in place for a second, pushed past its normal position by the hours _-days? minutes?-_ of warming the Secretary’s cock. The Secretary barely waits for the Asset to pull its body out of the confined space, grabbing it hard by the hair and pulling viciously as soon as its head emerges. The Asset lunges forward, pulled by the tight grip on his hair, and opens its mouth just in time as the Secretary pulls it back on his cock. It can’t breathe, can’t swallow, can’t move as the Secretary thrusts wildly into the Asset’s mouth, ramming his cock against the back of the Asset’s throat. Tears and snot and spit drip down the Asset’s face, and he chokes and gags because noise is allowed now _and the Secretary loves that sound, that slut, whore sound, fuck-_

The Asset gasps for breath as the Secretary forces its head up and down the length of his hard cock. Black spots dance in its vision and it feels the gorge rise in the back of its throat as hot vomit dribbles past its lips. Its nose is filled with the harsh scent of stale sweat as the Secretary jams its nose into the thick hatch of hair at the base of his cock, holding the Asset there as he pumps his hips faster and faster until finally, _finally_ , he comes down the Asset’s throat with a strangled yell. Salty, bitter come floods the Asset’s mouth and throat, and it chokes as it tries desperately to swallow. Some of it spills from its lips and joins the mess of fluids already on its face and dripping down its chin and its chest. The Secretary groans as he thrusts weakly into the Asset’s mouth until his cock starts to soften, come still dribbling from the tip.

Finally, he pushes the Asset away, his rapidly softening cock falling from between the Asset’s lips. Long strings of saliva, and other less pleasant things, come with it.

“Good boy,” the Secretary pants as the Asset gulps in great, fresh breaths of air. “Now wasn’t that fun?”

When the Asset doesn’t reply, the Secretary kicks out, catching the Asset just under its ribcage, the tip of his shoe digging into the Asset’s soft flesh. The Asset retches and vomits onto the floor. The Secretary shakes his head, lips pursed in annoyance.

“I _asked_ ,” his voice is hard and cold, “if you had fun. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe next time you want to play longer.”

“Yes, sir,” the Asset chokes out. The words sting like barbed wire in its throat. “I had fun, sir.”

The Secretary smiles, and it’s a predatory, ugly thing. “Now say thank you.”

“Thank you,” the Asset says quickly. “Thank you sir, thank you.”

“Good.” The Secretary stands, fastening his fly and belt as he does. He heads towards the office door, but not before pausing to pat the Asset on the top of his head _like a dog who sits when he’s told to sit._ “Stay here,” he tells the Asset. “The Handler will be here soon.”

The door clicks behind him as he leaves, and the Asset sits on the floor, trying to even out its ragged breathing and staring out the windows at the water below.


	2. The Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the follow up! I hope you enjoy!

“What do you think?”

Bucky’s facial expression gave nothing away as he passed a hand through the holographic desk, watching as the shimmering image distorted and disappeared. When he moved his hand out of the way, the desk appeared again, solid and sturdy looking, as if it had never been disturbed at all. Steve stayed quiet, content to just watch for now. He knew that Bucky would sort it out and give him an answer in his own time if Steve just let him be. It had been a hard lesson to learn at first; that all the poking and prodding in the world did about as much for Bucky’s recovery as a hole in his head. And Bucky had plenty of those already.

Finally, after several minutes of exploring the surroundings with his face set in that neutral expression that hid all manner of feelings, Bucky said, “It’s close.”

Steve frowned and looked around, trying to see where he’d gone wrong. “What’s not right?” He’d had Tony’s program build the room from his own memories, augmenting it here and there with others’. Natasha, Clint, Nick, and at least half a dozen others; some who’d visited Pierce’s office far more times than Steve had during his time with Shield.

Bucky stepped forward to the edge of the holographic windows and the copy of the back wall of Pierce’s office. It had been built by Tony’s program and projected to perfectly mimic that place that Steve remembered. The real office, along with the rest of the building, was nothing more than a pile of rubble back in D.C.

“The view,” Bucky said, his eyes transfixed by the image of the water through the windows. “The river’s all wrong.”

Steve frowned. It looked fine to him. The sunlight reflecting off the water below was so impeccably recreated that he could almost forget it was all an engineered illusion. But in this case it didn’t much matter what Steve thought. It wasn’t him that they were doing this for.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as Bucky turned away from the window to look at him. “I guess I remember it differently.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky replied, before lapsing back into his normal, bruised silence. His lip looked raw from nervous chewing, and the furrow between his eyebrows was deeper than Steve had ever seen it.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

A small huff of amusement escaped Bucky, loud and sudden as if it had surprised even himself. “I know Steve.” He turned thoughtful eyes back to Steve. “I _don’t_ have to.”

Steve waited for more, but Bucky quickly turned away again, his eyes scanning more of the recreated room. Steve wished, certainly not for the first time, that he was better at interpreting this quiet, broken Bucky, who was all at once everything and nothing like Steve remembered. He forced himself to stop that train of thought before it went dark. _This is for Bucky_ , he reminded himself viciously. If Steve couldn’t fix what had been broken, at least he could help Bucky to build something new.

He watched as Bucky wandered the room for another minute, arms held tightly behind his back. Bucky had a way of standing now that made him seem smaller than he was; he held his body as if he were trying to pull himself in to make himself small and unimportant. Steve hated it. He wanted to say something, anything, to get this started, but he had no clue what that something would be. It was the same questions he’d been grappling with for months. How did you help someone who’d been hurt the way Bucky had? How did you even know where to begin?

Well. At the beginning, he supposed. It was as good a place as any.

“How did it usually start?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky froze in the middle of inspecting the shimmering hologram of a plant in the corner of the room. His entire body seemed to tense at Steve’s question.

“Buck?” Steve gently prompted after almost a full minute of frozen silence. He’d also learned the hard way when they’d first started doing these scenes that sometimes Bucky needed a push, and that left alone, his mind would trap him in the memories, reluctant to let him escape the grip of past abuse.

Bucky straightened up, blinking quickly as Steve’s voice seemed to pull him from whatever dark place had him captive today. He breathed deeply and Steve could see the tension leaving his body, the muscles relaxing with each calm exhale. Slowly, Bucky brought his hands out in front of him, curling both flesh and metal fingers into tight fists before straightening them out again.

“Handcuffs,” he finally answered, watching his fingers curl in and out. “They always handcuffed me first.” This time, when he made his hands into fists, he held them there, clenched and unmoving.

“Do you want to be handcuffed?” Steve asked him. It seemed to help occasionally if Bucky could reconstruct the scene exactly as it had happened, but most days that wasn’t what he wanted.

“No.” Bucky’s answer was firm, his flesh hand held so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Alright,” Steve nodded, keeping his tone calm and low to combat the stress he could already see in the clench of Bucky’s fingers and the fine beads of sweat at his temples. “What happens next?”

“He would sit there.” Bucky’s eyes sought out the only real thing in the room besides the two of them. A chair made of black leather, supple and sleek, and identical to the one that Pierce had kept in his office. Holograms were great for memory work, but they only went so far when it came to more physical things.

Steve sank into the soft leather, watching Bucky’s face for any sort of reaction. “Like this?”

Bucky shook his head, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Leaning back,” he said, and Steve adjusted himself, leaning back in the chair. “Legs open.” Bucky licked his lips nervously during a quick pause. “And…” He trailed off as his eyes drifted to the corner of the room, watching something that only he could see.

“And?” Steve prompted him again, to purposefully pull him out of the memory.

“Hard,” Bucky said. A muscle in his jaw jumped under the skin as he grit his teeth. “He would be hard already. Touching himself. And…” The words sounded like they hurt. “Can we stop for a minute?”

“Of course.” Steve was out the chair as quickly as if it had been filled with burning coals. He felt oily, slimy, even though they hadn’t done anything yet, and he resisted the urge to rub at his skin. “Are you okay?”

Bucky closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose with metal fingers. It looked like it hurt. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just… It’s hard today.”

Something twisted in Steve’s chest, same as it always did when he had to watch Bucky struggle his way through these scenes. “How can I help?”

Bucky let out a long, frustrated sigh, blowing long strands of hair out of his face in process. “Just... come over here?”

It was a question and a request at the same time, and Steve was more than happy to comply with both. He closed the small distance between them in a few steps, before folding Bucky into a loose hug, careful not to restrict his movement too much. Another one of those hard-learned lessons.

“We can try again another day,” he told Bucky in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. He could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Bucky’s chest against his own and the quiet thrum of his heartbeat, both of them faster than any normal human’s.

“I don’t know why this one is so hard,” Bucky said. His voice was muffled as he tucked his face into Steve’s neck, but the angry inflection of his words was loud and clear.

“Remember what the doctor said,” Steve told him. Bucky’s hair tickled his chin as he hugged Bucky to him. “It’s not-”

“Steve, I swear to god, if you pull that ‘recovery isn’t linear’ shit on me again, I’m going to kneecap you.”

“Well it’s true,” Steve argued lightly.

“What a revelation,” Bucky mumbled deadpan, speaking more to Steve’s shoulder than anything. “When are you publishing this astonishing new research?”

Steve swatted Bucky on the top of the head lightly, taking great care to telegraph his movements well in advance. Bucky tensed momentarily at the touch but then quickly relaxed, the tension seeping out of his shoulders and leaving them drooped. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Well then don’t say stupid things,” Bucky countered, sounding for all the world like a petulant child. Steve couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face at the sound.

“I’ll try, but you know it’s hard to resist what comes so naturally,” Steve told him.

He didn’t need to see Bucky’s face to know how hard he was rolling his eyes. Bucky shifted in Steve’s arms, untucking himself from Steve’s neck to look him in the eyes. Those, at least, were exactly as Steve remembered them; grey speckled with bits of blue like winter ice. Still wrapped up in Steve’s arms, their faces were inches from each other. Steve couldn’t help but fixate on Bucky’s lips, chapped and pink against his pale skin.

“You’re stupid,” Bucky told him, inching closer until their lips were almost touching.

“So I keep being told,” Steve murmured back, before closing the space between them with a kiss.

Bucky’s lips were full and soft against Steve’s mouth. Like Steve, Bucky ran hot; an unintended side effect of the serum. His breath was hot on Steve’s lips, and everywhere they touched felt like fire. Something soft and warm coiled happily in Steve’s chest, curling outwards and dancing along his limbs like liquid gold. Heat rushed through him, coloring his cheeks and turning the tips of his ears red as they kissed. For months, Steve had waited for his body to calm itself, had waited for kissing Bucky to feel normal, second-nature. But it never happened. Every time was like the first time now that every simple touch was taken to new heights and magnified by his serum-enhanced body.

He could remember the past like it was yesterday; the heat of Brooklyn summer and the sweat that had poured off of him. The way that Bucky had towered over him, mysterious and untouchable. Now it was Steve who had to look down, to tilt his head to reach Bucky’s lips. Steve who could fold himself around Bucky like a blanket to keep him wrapped up and secure. Past and present fought in his head as they kissed, wanting to hold and be held, to protect and to be protected, to love and be loved in return.

Well, at least they had that last one down.

Bucky shifted in his arms, one leg coming to rest between Steve’s thighs, rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric between them. Steve gasped, open-mouthed, at the sudden sensation, and Bucky took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Bucky’s tongue, warm and velvety, explored the inside of Steve’s mouth as Steve eagerly opened up more. He felt Bucky’s hands slip under the hem of his shirt, the cold of the metal a shock against his hot skin. He could feel Bucky’s cock beginning to harden against him, and Steve wanted to grab him, to yank off his clothes and drop to his knees to suck Bucky off right there. The thought of it, of Bucky’s cock filling his mouth and throat and the scent of him filling his nostrils as Bucky fucked his mouth, made him groan into the kiss as his own cock tented the fabric of his pants. He wanted to do all that and more, but he shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , right now. This was Bucky’s scene. Steve was here to follow, not to lead, and he had to let Bucky guide him through.

Between Steve’s thighs, Bucky pressed his leg more firmly against Steve’s cock, and the delicious friction made Steve moan again. Bucky eagerly swallowed the sound as he deepened the kiss even further. He was getting frantic, twitching and squirming in Steve’s arms, flesh and metal fingers digging into Steve’s back as they kissed, technique dissolving away into a mess of hot, desperate breathing and teeth and tongues.

Bucky pushed against Steve’s chest, hard, and Steve obeyed the unspoken command, letting Bucky walk him backwards until the back of his knees hit something solid. His knees buckled, but Bucky held him there with an iron grip, kissing him one more time, before letting Steve drop fully onto the chair. Steve watched as Bucky dropped to his knees before him, the look on his face hungry and wild. Steve tried to lean forward, hands reaching out, but Bucky grabbed him by the hips and pushed him back. Steve hit the back of the chair hard enough to force a small huff of air from him. He could already feel the bruises forming where Bucky’s fingers dug in, and the brief pain sent a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to his groin.

“Fuck,” Steve said. His cock was achingly hard where it was trapped against his thigh. “Bucky...”

But he didn’t have to say anything, because Bucky was already on the move. Seemingly satisfied that Steve would stay where he’d been put, Bucky let go of his hips and grabbed for Steve’s knees instead, pushing his legs roughly apart and leaning forward. He stopped for a moment, as if considering his next move. Steve could feel the heat of Bucky’s breath even through the fabric of his pants. It was torture to hold still like this, with his cock hard and dripping and so, so close to Bucky’s mouth.

Like he could hear Steve’s thoughts, Bucky grinned up at him before his hands went straight for Steve’s. While his metal hand flattened over Steve’s abdomen, holding him in place, Bucky’s other hand deftly undid Steve’s belt and pulled open his fly. Working together, Steve shifted his weight, letting Bucky pull the material downward, freeing his cock. It was flushed, the delicate skin red where it had been rubbing against his pants. Precome beaded at the tip, and Steve watched as Bucky licked at it, suddenly hesitant.

Steve rewarded him with a great gasp of air at the first touch of Bucky’s tongue on his skin. Bucky grinned wider, and braver this time, ran his tongue along the slit. Only Bucky’s hand and a great many years of self-discipline kept Steve from coming out of his seat, desperate to chase the velvety wet feeling of Bucky’s tongue on his cock. And then, all traces of hesitance gone, Bucky swallowed Steve down in one smooth motion.

Throwing his head back against the soft leather, Steve let out a wordless cry. Bucky’s mouth was wet and hot, so hot, as his tongue wrapped around Steve’s cock. Their eyes met, Bucky’s grey-blues staring at Steve from beneath his dark fringe of lashes. There was fire there, something burning dangerous and dark, and Steve wanted more of it. He wanted to buck up into that warm wetness, wanted to fuck Bucky’s mouth until they were both a shaking, sobbing mess.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped. “Fuck, _fuck_ , I-”

His toes curled in his shoes and his back arched as Bucky hollowed out his cheeks and sucked Steve down. He felt the head of his cock bump up against the back of Bucky’s throat, and felt it as Bucky almost gagged around the intrusion. Steve tried to pull back, to give Bucky the space to breathe, but Bucky’s grip; metal hand on Steve’s stomach and flesh hand back at Steve’s hip, was rock solid. Bucky swallowed around him again and Steve moaned, the sound ripped from his throat before he’d even been aware he was making it. His hands moved of their own accord, fingers scrabbling at the armrests before reaching for Bucky and tangling themselves in the fine strands of Bucky’s hair.

Suddenly everything screeched to a halt. Bucky froze in place, his lips still wrapped around Steve’s cock and his fingers digging in painfully as his muscles tensed. Panicking, Steve looked down, his mouth open on another gasp and his brain two steps behind his body as he struggled to figure out what had happened. He looked desperately at Bucky, whose eyes had gone glazed and distant, the way they did when he was fighting a memory. A fine tremor wracked his solid frame. His mouth was moving; small, aborted attempts at speech maybe, and each movement put sweet, wet pressure on Steve’s cock. It was all he could do not to come right then and there. His hands clenched involuntarily, pulling hard on Bucky’s hair.

_Fuck._

Immediately, Steve released his hold on Bucky, letting his hair slip free from his tight grip. He could feel the moment that Bucky came back to the present; his entire body relaxed and his eyes were clear and sharp.

“I’m sorry,” Steve told him, his voice cracking as he held his hands up in the air, far away from Bucky’s head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He cut himself off with a long moan as Bucky hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard, his tongue rubbing at the head of Steve’s cock before pressing against the sensitive underside. Steve figured it was more or less Bucky’s way of telling him no damage had been done, and while he wished Bucky would let him apologize, he couldn’t exactly say he was upset with the way things were going.

So no hair pulling. Steve added it to the mental list of things that seemed to trigger Bucky. They’d talk about it afterwards. Steve would ask probing questions and Bucky would answer in that deadened voice that Steve hated, and when it got to be too much for either of them, they’d curl together in their bed until the worst of the feelings passed. But for now Steve put it aside, more than happy to concentrate on nothing more than the feel of Bucky’s mouth and the sweet sounds he was making as he sucked Steve’s cock.

He wanted to throw his head back again, to close his eyes as Bucky pushed him closer to the edge of the cliff. But Bucky had already been taken off course once, and Steve knew he needed to watch, to stay alert, and make sure this remained something that Bucky felt good about.

Bucky swallowed around him again, and then let Steve’s cock drop from his mouth with a neat little pop. Bucky’s tongue, quick and pink, darted out to clean precome from the tip, before leaning forward, nosing Steve’s cock out of the way, and sucking Steve’s balls into his mouth. He rolled them gently with his tongue, using it to add just the barest hint of pressure, riding the delicate balance between pain and pleasure.

Bucky kept up the pattern of pressure and release, pressure and release, until Steve was nearly sobbing. He could feel his orgasm building, the tension in his groin growing, tendrils of pleasure curling in his stomach and up through his chest. His cock ached for something, _anything_ , as it was ignored. Every now and then it brushed Bucky’s cheek, and the simple friction was enough to light Steve up inside. The pressure built more and more. It felt like standing on the top of a wave speeding towards a jetty. All Steve could do was watch and wait helplessly for his body to break on the rocks.

“Please,” he gasped, hands scrabbling again for something to hold onto. This time his fingers found the armrests of the chair and he held on for dear life. “Please, god, Buck _please_ just-”

Steve barely had the chance to register the chill of the air on his spit-slick skin before Bucky was swallowing him down again with fervor. Bucky’s eyes were bright and his chin was soaked with saliva. Steve looked down and saw the shape of Bucky’s own hard cock pressed tight against his jeans. There were little moans coming from him, barely audible, but Steve could feel the vibration of his voice buzzing through, his throat working as he sucked Steve down further. It was too much. It drenched Steve’s senses until he was filled with it; the sight of Bucky on his knees, cheeks red and hair in wild disarray, the sounds he was making, the wet-soft-warm feel of Bucky’s mouth on his cock, the-

Steve came with a strangled yell, his cock pulsing in time with his heartbeat. There were firecrackers under his skin and black dots danced in his vision. Making a pleased sound that reverberated through him, Bucky sucked Steve through the aftershocks. It was like a chain reaction; every time Bucky swallowed, the muscles of his throat squeezed Steve’s cock with such delicious friction that Steve shook and shuddered, riding another wave of pleasure as his come filled Bucky’s throat.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. Every touch had him nearly jumping out of the chair, over-sensitive and overwhelmed. Steve opened his eyes, not even aware of when he’d closed them in the first place. Bucky’s eyes met his with a defiant kind of glee as he gave one last hard suck that had Steve hissing with overstimulation. Gently, he let Steve’s cock ease from between his lips as he grinned at Steve, his face light and open in a way that Steve rarely got to see, much less after something like this.

Come dribbled from the corner of Bucky’s mouth, and Steve’s spent cock gave a valiant twitch as he nearly groaned at the sight. He reached out silently, wiping his come from Bucky’s mouth with the pad of his thumb before hesitantly pressing it to Bucky’s lips. Bucky, however, was more than happy to comply, eagerly opening his mouth and wrapping his tongue around Steve’s thumb. And if he spent longer than was strictly necessary sucking the come off of Steve’s skin, well, Steve wasn’t about to complain.

“Good?” Bucky asked as Steve swiped his now-clean thumb across Bucky’s cheek.

“Perfect,” Steve told him.

In one quick movement, Steve pushed back the chair to join Bucky on the floor. Their lips met in a clash of too much pressure and too many teeth, their faces at the wrong angle and their noses banging together. Neither cared. The kiss was wet, chaotic, and messy. He could taste himself on Bucky’s lips, and his tongue explored Bucky’s mouth enthusiastically, twining roughly with Bucky’s as Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back.

Bucky pushed hard against Steve’s chest and Steve let himself be pushed to the ground. The carpet was soft under his head as Bucky climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and never once breaking the kiss. Steve closed his eyes, nipping and biting at Bucky’s full bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as Bucky panted. He could feel how hard Bucky was now, his cock straining against his jeans, precome leaving a darkened spot on the fabric. Bucky’s hands disappeared below him, and Steve heard the rasp of a zipper as Bucky fumbled at his clothing, before Bucky’s hips were suddenly pressed against his. They were both still fully clothed but for the pants pushed down their thighs, but that was all that Steve needed to make this work.

Bucky’s skin was a furnace, heat radiating from him as he rocked his hips. His cock, hot and hard, rubbed against Steve’s, which was already starting to slowly firm up again. Bucky moaned at the friction of skin on skin and pressed down again as he deepened the kiss. His tongue was in Steve’s mouth and his hair hung down, tickling Steve’s cheeks. Steve tightened his arms around Bucky’s back, pulling him even closer, until every inch of bare skin between them was touching, branding each other like hot iron. Bucky gasped and rocked his hips back and forth, rutting against Steve, faster and faster. Steve’s cock was now fully hard again, the slip of skin on skin sending hot bolts of lightning straight to his spine as pressure built in his groin, much faster than it had before.

Steve had an idea. “Wait,” he told Bucky breathlessly.

Bucky slowed but didn’t stop his movements, his hips moving in little jerks and twitches that had Steve seeing stars. Unhooking his hands from behind Bucky’s back, Steve brought one palm to his face and spit before reaching down between them and slicking the inside of his own thighs. Steve tensed his muscles, crossing his ankles and bringing his legs tightly together. Bucky caught on at once, slipping his leaking cock into the space between Steve’s thighs, saliva and sweat easing the friction and letting his skin glide across Steve’s.

Bucky let out a long, low moan as he slid into the tight space that Steve had created. Every thrust of his hips buried his cock between Steve’s thighs. Steve’s own cock was trapped between their bodies, and every slide of Bucky’s cock brushed the sensitive skin of his sac as Bucky’s stomach rubbed against the underside of his cock.

“Oh,” Steve panted. “Oh, fuck, Bucky that’s good.”

The praise seemed to spur Bucky on, and he pumped his hips faster as he fucked into the space between Steve’s thighs. Steve held his muscles taut, gasping breathlessly at every move Bucky made, a second orgasm building quickly. They weren’t kissing anymore. Bucky’s eyes were closed as he panted open-mouthed, his breath hot on Steve’s skin. He was lost in pleasure, in feeling good and taking what he wanted, and Steve felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes before he even knew he was crying.

Bucky was going faster now, rutting against Steve, his thrusts wild and frantic as he chased his orgasm. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, holding him, grounding him, even as he threatened to pull them both over the edge. Words, unplanned and exuberant, spilled from his lips, mindless encouragement.

“Yes, god yes, Bucky, you’re perfect, so perfect, yes, _ah, fuck_ , just like that baby, you can do it, come for me, please, _please_ -”

Bucky choked out senseless sounds as he came, as if the breath was being forced from his lungs. Steve could feel Bucky’s cock pulsing between his legs, slippery come painting the inside of his thighs. He held his legs tight as Bucky pumped his hips erratically, his cock sliding through the mess he’d made. Choking sobs wrenched from him as he milked his orgasm, drawing it out as little aftershocks trembled their way through him. Steve’s own orgasm, smaller than the first one but no less pleasurable, took Steve by surprise. He’d already spent himself down Bucky’s throat and so only a small amount of come trickled from him, dripping onto his stomach.

For a moment it was all they could do to just breathe, their mouths working, sucking in great gulps of air as they rocked against each other. Finally, Steve let the tension leave his legs. Bucky’s come coated his thighs, slick and slippery, and dripped down to the floor below. Heedless of the mess, Bucky lowered himself down until he was resting on Steve, his weight on Steve’s body like the comfort of a thick blanket on a cold night. Steve hugged Bucky close to him, concentrating on the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest against his, the smell of sweat and come, and the feel of Bucky’s skin against his, both of them sweaty and messy and debauched.

Reluctantly, Steve let go of Bucky to wave a hand in the air. The hologram flickered and disappeared, Pierce’s office vanishing and the soft, cream walls and recessed lighting of their living room taking its place. With Pierce’s office gone, even fake as it was, Steve breathed a little easier, his chest feeling lighter than it had in a long time. Bucky had laid his head on Steve’s chest. His eyes were closed and his hair had fallen across his face in its usual wild tangle. Steve smiled and brushed a lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear, freeing up enough skin for Steve to press a soft kiss to the skin of his cheek. Already, Bucky’s breathing was evening out as he started to slip into sleep, his orgasm better than any sleep aid or medication. Steve turned his head, gazing out the floor-length windows of their apartment as he combed through Bucky’s hair with gentle fingers. The lights of Manhattan burned bright against the night sky like stars as Steve felt his own eyelids start to droop. Later, they’d have to get up, clean the mess, and talk about difficult things to dissect more of Bucky’s trauma in the never-ending attempt to help him heal. But for now, for this one moment, Steve was content to let himself drift off to sleep.


End file.
